


Domestic Bliss

by ruric



Category: Leverage
Genre: Community: comment_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-27
Updated: 2009-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec opens the door to be hit by the smell of food cooking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Bliss

His loft screams high tech geek. 

Always has done ever since he was old enough to get a place to call his own with money of his own, well money he could technically call his own, to buy what he wanted.

The things he bought were the high end gizmos and gadgets – state of the art screens and sound systems - the best components he could get his hands on to build his own network and top of the range appliances in every room. 

It screams intelligent and programmable and if it’s just one small step short of voice activated that’s because he realised there’s only so far you can go before you become a walking cliché.

He can still remember the sneer of disdain curling Eliot’s lip the first time the team came here until he saw the pool table and the flat screens on the wall.

Coming back to the loft after a day spent cooped up in the back of the van, hunched over a laptop screen – because they’re running a long surveillance op on their latest mark – he’s ready for the high ceilings and clean lines, the wide open space of it to soothe away the ache in his muscles.

Alec opens the door to be hit by the smell of food cooking. 

His mouth is watering with the realisation that the last thing he had to ‘eat’ was the coffee he grabbed from Starbucks on the way to the stakeout at 7am this morning.

He stumbles into the kitchen, body automatically following the scent, to find Eliot behind the counter, white towel tucked into the waistband of his jeans, spoon half raised to his mouth about to taste whatever he’s been making.

“’bout fucking time.”

Alec grins cause he’s got nothing, just watches Eliot sniff and taste, turn and add a little something to the pot on the stove.

By the time Eliot’s finished stirring Alec’s rounded the counter, his hands curving round Eliot’s hips pulling him back, because hell yeah, this is their version of the “hello honey how was your day at the office” ritual. 

Alec’s nose is pressing into Eliot’s hair and he can smell garlic and herbs before his teeth find skin and graze over the bone at the top of Eliot’s spine. There’s a promise in the way Eliot rocks back into him, but it’s a promise for later because the one thing you don’t do is a let a meal Eliot Spencer has cooked you go to waste.

“Food first.”

“Good, cause I’m starving.”

He’ll never tell Eliot out loud, though he thinks Eliot probably knows, but this is what home means to Alec and it reminds him of being a kid. A place of your own, a person in it, the smell of a meal cooked with love on the air.


End file.
